


Cupid Don't Draw Back Your Bow

by indevan



Series: Rock Band AU [31]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Arguing, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Fights, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: The gang does Valentine's Day in a way only they can (read: like a disaster)





	Cupid Don't Draw Back Your Bow

**Author's Note:**

> [AU timeline](http://vertigoats.tumblr.com/post/166537761367/since-after-the-first-few-the-fics-in-rock-band)

“You’re fucking it up again.”

Vegeta’s growl holds no heat and so Kakarrot fields it with a bright, shining smile.  It’s times like these that he feels like no time has passed at all.  They’re sitting in Turles’s garage or on the floor of their stinky-ass apartment, playing guitar together.

Obviously things have changed.  When they started the band, they were just fucking around after school because for a bunch of “directionless punks” (as the principal referred to them) being in a band was the next logical progression.  Now they’re semi-famous, on the brink of becoming  _ actually _ famous.

Trunks hums to himself as he plays with his toys and--yeah.  That’s different, too.  Kakarrot’s own sons are at home with Chi-Chi.  With Gohan having recently turned six, he’s gotten used to the idea of being a dad, but sometimes it’s not until he sees Trunks does he remember that, oh yeah, this guy’s a father.

“So are you and Bulma doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”

Vegeta pulls a face and sets down the guitar pick.

“What does that have to do with you fucking up that chord?”

“It doesn’t.  Just--are you?” He rubs the back of his neck. “‘Cause Chi-Chi wanted me to ask you to do this group date thing with Krillin and Lazuli.  Said we gotta get used to doing stuff with other couples when we get married.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Vegeta reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table and then stops himself.

“Are you trying to quit?” he asks, distracted by the gesture.

“No.” He scoffs as if the very notion is absurd. “We just don’t smoke around Trunks.”

That...makes sense, he figures.  Chi-Chi always banned  _ him _ from smoking in the house, but that was mostly just her stance on smoking entirely in addition to not wanting their sons to get a contact high, which he agrees with.

“So do you wanna go?”

Vegeta makes a gesture away from himself and shakes his head.

“We both think Valentine’s Day is crass, commercial bullshit.  That being said, restaurants have super good deals for couples so we already have plans.”

Kakarrot taps his hands on the body of his guitar and sighs.

“Really?”

He nods.

“Caulifla is watching Trunks.”

At the mention of his name, Trunks clamors over and drapes himself on his father’s lap.  He plucks at the chord and giggles at the sound it makes as it reverberates.

“Doesn’t she have plans with her girlfriend?”

“Yeah, but I told her she and Kale have to wait to have sex until Trunks is asleep and they can’t do it in our bed.”

For the life of him, Kakarrot will never understand the weird, quasi-sibling relationship that Caulifla and Vegeta have.

“Oh, that’s fair.” He sighs. “I guess we’ll ask my brother and Lapis, then.  I think Lazuli was gonna ask him anyway.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’ll like being second choice after me.”

Kakarrot shrugs and reaches out to ruffle Trunks’s hair.

“I mostly asked you first ‘cause Bulma’s Chi-Chi’s maid of honor.”

Vegeta turns his hand out and reaches for his guitar pick.  His brow furrows and he looks back at the coffee table.

“Where’s my pick?”

Kakarrot shrugs. “I dunno.”

Trunks looks away.  Vegeta glares and holds his hand out.

“Trunks, spit it out.”

He shakes his head and purses his lips shut.

“Trunks...you know you don’t put daddy’s picks in your mouth.  Give it back.”

Trunks glares back and shakes his head.

“Trunks Garter Vegeta Prince, do you want to go in time out?  Spit it out.”

Reluctantly, the toddler pulls back his lips and holds the pick clenched in his teeth.  Even more slowly, he spits it out onto his father’s outspread hand.

“Thank you.”

Kakarrot goggles at him, unsure as to what he’s looking at.  This is the same guy who stood between two cars as they sped down the street.  The same guy who obnoxiously sings songs from the eighties when he’s drunk.  The same guy who punched him through the guitar.

“What?” Vegeta asks irritably.

“You’re a  _ dad!” _ Kakarrot exclaims.

He cocks a brow. “No shit?”

Trunks giggles and echoes, “No ‘hit.”

Kakarrot shakes his head. “No, no.  I mean, I know you have a kid, obviously, but--you’re a  _ dad. _  It’s so weird.”

“Fuck off!” he snarls.

“Also does Trunks have two middle names?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.  It was Bulma’s idea.”

Kakarrot bobs his head in a nod.  That explains it.

\--

It’s times like these where Turles wishes that they had cable.  He wishes he had something to do to occupy his mind and, while they have a television, almost all the movies are Broly’s and that’s what he wants distract himself from.  Valentine’s Day is one of the biggest crocks of shit in the world and yet here he is, feeling miserable about it because he’s alone.

He doesn’t  _ have _ to be.  With the band’s newfound clout, he can call up nearly everyone and at the very least get laid tonight.  The issue is that he doesn’t  _ want _ to because he knows what he  _ wants _ and what he  _ wants _ is emotionally unavailable.

He told himself he was going to wait Broly out, for him to make the first move, but it’s killing him.  He mostly can’t get over the kiss they nearly shared over the holidays.  They were so close but when he saw Broly pull back a centimeter, he knew that he wasn’t ready.  So he’ll wait--he’ll wait until Broly makes up his mind, but it’s  _ killing him. _  He’s used to going for what he wants without fear but he knows he can’t just do that with Broly.

Today he slumps on the couch and watches Raditz get ready for some fancy couples dinner.  Chi-Chi’s idea, no doubt.  She’s always trying to get them to be more normal and not the group of messy, punk fuck-ups they are and always will be.

“Is that my shirt?”

Raditz quirks a brow as he slides a button into its hole.

“Do you  _ own _ any dress shirts?”

“Do you?”

He tugs on the cuff and says, “I do now.”

Turles fiddles with one of the piercings in his ear.  He needs a distraction and teasing his best friend seems to be the right course of action.

“I only ask because it looks like it’d fit me.”

Raditz makes a face and, with difficulty, gets the final button in.  The dress shirt, which is actually a nice shade of gray that complements his skin, is holding on for dear life across Raditz’s shoulders and chest.  Turles isn’t certain why he always buys clothes a size or two smaller than he needs.  Sure he  _ appreciates  _ it (especially when they were dating), but it’s one thing with t-shirts that stretch.  The dress shirt is a bit much.

“I can barely move my arms,” Raditz remarks. “I guess I should skip out on the jacket, huh?”

Turles makes a fiddly gesture with his hand.

“I mean, I’m sure Lapis will appreciate you Hulking out of your clothes at dinner, but Chi-Chi won’t.”

“Fair…”

He takes the jacket from where it’s draped on the couch and slips it on.  To Turles’s surprise, it seems to fit him.

“Look at you, all dressed up,” he says, grinning. “Are you gonna do anything with your hair?”

“I already tried.”

He gives him a sympathetic look.

“So what are you doin’ tonight?” Raditz adjusts the collar of his jacket and winces when he hears a seam pop.

Turles shrugs and says as casually as he can, “Maybe see what Broly’s up to and if he wants to hang.”

At least, for now, he’s out of the apartment, helping Kale find flowers to get Caulifla for Valentine’s Day.  He isn’t sure how that’s going to go since the two of them aren’t remotely romantic.

“Hmm.”

Turles sits up. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s just a sound,” Raditz says blithely but he’s a shitty liar.

Sometimes he wants to tell him about his feelings for Broly and, half the time, he’s certain that Raditz has already guessed it, but he knows his best friend can’t keep a goddamn secret to save his life.  He’ll somehow blab it to Broly and then it’ll make everything weird and he really doesn’t want that.  He’s trying to do this delicately and Raditz running his big mouth isn’t a part of that.

“Hey, we’re both single,” he says smoothly. “May as well hang, right?”

Raditz eyes him skeptically but, thankfully, drops it without another question.

“Have fun at dinner,” he says.

His thick brows rise and he says, “You have fun, too.”

\--

Chi-Chi doesn’t think it’s too much to want a nice night out.  She knows that she didn’t sign up for normalcy when she decided to give her heart to Kakarrot--a so-called loser pothead who is now an increasingly well known rockstar--but she wants something nice and typical every now and then.

Which is why Gohan and Goten are spending the night at her father’s (since she thought it’d be nice to leave Bardock and Gine free to spend Valentine’s Day together) and she’s organized a couples dinner at a nice restaurant.

“Do I look okay?” she asks.  Nervously, she smooths her hand over the blue dress she chose for the night.  She rarely gets the chance to dress up and, every time the opportunity comes up, she feels woefully unprepared.

Kakarrot looks up from the wine listing and gives her a thumbs up.

“Totally.  But, then, I’m biased.” He smiles, showing his dimples, and her heart melts a little.

Even in their darkest times, before they got on track, he could always make her swoon with that smile.  They’re the only ones at the table so far, but Chi-Chi made sure they were early for their reservation.

“You look nice, too,” she says, and she means it.

There’s only so much Kakarrot can do with his hair and he can’t hide his earring or the fact that, through the open throat of his dress shirt, she can see two of his tattoos, but he’s put in an effort, which is all she can ask.  The last time he’s looked this nice was on their anniversary when he proposed and the memory makes her feel--warm.  A decidedly naughty part of her wants to toss dinner and have him take her home to their empty apartment and have him ravish her all night.

But plans are plans and Chi-Chi is a stickler for plans.

“Sorry we’re late.  The Uber took a wrong turn.”

Krillin grins as if he’s actually late and not just slightly past on-time and slides into the chair next to Kakarrot.  He looks put together, but that’s not terribly surprising.  The members of Kame Kami--with the exception of Yamcha--always look less disheveled than Kakarrot and his group.  Whenever Piccolo comes over the apartment for Gohan’s drumming lessons, he always has on nice, tailored slacks and a button-up.  Lazuli takes the seat next to Chi-Chi so she’s across from her boyfriend and gives a slight smile.

“Thank you for inviting us,” she says and, with her flat voice, it takes Chi-Chi a moment to tell she’s completely serious.  And a little nervous, she notices, with the way her hand fiddles first with the hem of her vintage-looking mod dress and then with the cutlery laid out on the table.

“Of course,” Chi-Chi says.

To be honest, she hasn’t spent much time with Krillin or Lazuli, but Krillin was Kakarrot’s childhood best friend who he’s intent on catching up with and, besides, she figures that it will be nice to spend time with a couple that isn’t trying to match one another shot for shot like Bulma and Vegeta do.

The server stops by, eyes the remaining empty chairs, and says that he’ll be back in a moment.

“Wait,” Kakarrot says pitifully. “I want bread.”

He puts his hand over his stomach and whimpers pathetically.  Krillin chuckles as his eyes glance over the menu.  Chi-Chi, meanwhile, keeps her own eyes on the door.  She wants a nice night and it can’t truly begin until everyone has arrived.

It takes another few minutes for Lapis and Raditz to get to their table.

“Sorry we’re late,” Raditz says, plunking into the seat on the other side of Kakarrot. “Traffic, y’know?”

Lazuli eyes her brother as he takes a seat across from Raditz and smirks. “Traffic give you that fresh love bite, Lapis?”

He puts a hand over his neck and smirks, not at all embarrassed. “Maybe.”

Chi-Chi sighs, but--at least they’re here and well-dressed.  Lapis is wearing a deep red suit that’s cut perfectly to his frame and she didn’t even think that Raditz  _ owned _ a suit.  Then again, upon closer look, Chi-Chi can see that he’s taken the same approach to his dress shirt that he does to his other clothes.  She notices the fabric puckering from here as it strains over his chest.

The waiter appears again to take their drink orders, fill their water glasses, and, mercifully, brings a basket of bread.  Kakarrot descends on it, which is proof that she can’t take him anywhere, but she also reckons that it could be worse.

“So, uh…” Krillin leans forward to peak around Kakarrot’s form as her fiancé is all but face first in the bread basket. “I don’t think I ever noticed how...big you are?”

Lazuli snorts into her glass of water.

“I have,” Lapis says and Chi-Chi resists the urge to drop her head into her hands.

“How much do you weigh anyway?” Lazuli asks, apparently having recovered.

Raditz blinks as if he isn’t sure and then says, “I dunno...two forty-five, two fifty, maybe?”

Kakarrot finally comes up from air, chewing on a hunk of sourdough. “Yeah, but, like, thirty of that is hair.”

Raditz shoves him playfully. “Shut up.”

“Do you, uh, lift?” Krillin asks.

“Does he?” Lapis rolls his eyes. “Please.”

“There’s this all-night gym near home.  This old guy who used to be friends with my grandpa owns it and he waived the membership fee for me back in high school,” he says. “It’s what I do when I need to, like, get energy out and shit?  When Lapis is busy or I don’t wanna wake people up with drumming.”

“Or when he’s bored,” Kakarrot adds with the kind of glee only contained by a younger brother teasing his elder. “I remember waking up and he wasn’t in bed and our ma would be about to call the cops before Mr. Mutaito would call and say you were at the gym.”

Chi-Chi isn’t sure why this is such a topic of conversation but at least it’s getting everyone talking.  The waiter returns with their drinks and swiftly begins taking everyone’s orders.

“Can I get the ribeye?” Kakarrot asks.

“How would you like it cooked?”

“Can you just, like, walk the cow through a hot room?”

Chi-Chi sighs.  She really  _ can’t _ take him anywhere.  She orders the chicken dish, which Krillin echoes.  Lazuli gets some kind of fish and Raditz gets the same thing as his brother.  Lapis peers over the menu and flicks his gaze to the waiter.

“What base broth do you use for your soups?”

“Beef or chicken, depending” he reports.

She hears him swear under his breath and Chi-Chi realizes that she hadn’t thought to check the menu for vegetarian options before making the reservation.

“And the mac’n’cheese side?”

“The lobster mac’n’cheese?”

“Of course it is…” he sighs. “Um.  I guess I’ll have the wild mushroom sauté and the creamed kale.”

The waiter nods his head and leaves.  Chi-Chi leans forward and draws her finger around the rim of her wine glass nervously.

“Sorry,” she says, “I forgot you were a vegetarian.”

Lapis waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

Raditz grins wolfishly. “We’ll split a dessert.”

“I thought we were waiting until we got back to the apartment for that,” he says archly.

His grin widens and he moves his arm to put it around Lapis’s shoulders.  The motion seems to be the last straw on tension because the top two buttons of Raditz’s shirt fly off and land in Chi-Chi’s glass of wine with a muted  _ plop. _  Raditz stares down at his suddenly exposed chest in disbelief.

“Oops,” he says, wincing. “Sorry, Cheech.”

Lazuli and Kakarrot burst into laughter with Lapis joining in shortly thereafter.  Even Krillin is hiding his mirth behind his hand.  Chi-Chi sighs and drops her head.  So much for her perfect night.

\--

Bulma isn’t sure who decided to celebrate Valentine’s Day with two for one margaritas but she has to thank them.  She’s on her fourth and feeling pretty good.  Her life is fucking fantastic.  She has a smoking hot boyfriend, an amazing and adorable toddler, and she’s making headway in the university through teaching and her own research.  She’s Bulma  _ fucking _ Briefs.  Of course when she said this to Vegeta, he simply blinked at her--equally drunk--and said, “I thought you said your middle name was Tanga?”

“This is nice,” she says for the umpteenth time, swirling the frozen contents of her margarita around. “Just us.”

He grunts in response and it makes her frown.  That’s not fun--it’s Valentine’s Day!  They should be being sappy in a way neither of them know how to be.

“So,” Bulma puts the glass down and purses her lips. “Have you talked to your dad?”

She realizes after it’s out of her mouth, that it’s the wrong thing to say.  Vegeta’s face screws up in a scowl and he waits to drain his glass before he says anything to her.

“No.”

Her mouth can’t stop and it has to be the margaritas. “Why not?  I thought you made some headway at Christmas.”

“You mean, when you ambushed me with him at Christmas?”

Oh, so it’s this again.  Bulma winces.  It  _ was _ a bad call to invite his dad to dinner without telling him but she thought it had worked out in the end.  He introduced him to Trunks and said he would call him to talk.  That’s...something, right?

“Come on, come on.” She waves her hand. “I apologized for that.”

His scowl deepens and he reaches for his glass.

“Fuck,” he grumbles once he sees that it’s empty.

“So, c’mon...have you talked to him?”

“No,” he snaps. “I fucking haven’t.”

Bulma feels her hackles rise. “There’s no need to jump down my throat.”

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t...you don’t  _ get it. _  Talking to my dad isn’t going to magically make things better and I’m not gonna fucking even attempt it ‘til I’m ready.”

She clenches her jaw--he’s so  _ stubborn! _  It’s the same bullshit before when he would dig his heels in and refuse to open up.  She thought they were  _ past _ this.

“I’m not saying it’ll magically make things better.  I just think you should talk to him.  He’s trying.”

Vegeta snorts derisively. “He’s trying?  How the fuck do you know?”

“He said he’s seeing a therapist.”

He swirls a finger around dismissively. “Big fucking whoop.  Sure, it’s a step, but you don’t fucking get it.  Your parents love you--they care about and support you.  I can’t just fucking forget all the shit he said to me because he’s finally realizing how shitty a dad he is.”

The waiter walks by and Vegeta snags his sleeve.

“Can I get another?” he asks.  He looks at her and then adds. “And a shot of tequila.  A double.”

The waiter looks suspicious but, honestly, she’s impressed at how sober he’s appearing at the moment and the guy nods.

“Sure thing.”

“I just don’t know,” Bulma says and takes a sip of her own drink, “why you’re getting so worked up about it.  At me, I mean.”

“Because you’re going on about it.  I don’t want to fucking talk to him yet.”

The waiter returns with his drink and shot and she watches as he downs it before grabbing for the frozen margarita.  The part of her that’s still sober wants to tell him to stop but the drunk, impulsive part of her is growing angry at his obstinance.

“Right, because God forbid you actually take a step to change something in your life!”

Vegeta quirks a brow and crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you wallow in shit.  In our first breakup, I texted you the next day and you didn’t fucking answer.  And now this shit with your dad.” She smacks her hands on the table and stands up. “You  _ like _ being miserable.”

“Like fuck I do!” he snarls, standing up himself. “I like being miserable, which is why I try so fucking hard not to fuck things up with Trunks like my parents did with me, right?  Why I actually talk to you about shit now instead of icing you out--it’s all because I  _ like _ being miserable!”

She’s sure other people are listening to them now, but she’s honestly too drunk and mad to really care.

“Then call your fucking father!”

“No!”

“Why not?” she demands.

He takes a gulp of his drink, but doesn’t fully swallow before speaking, spraying the table with light green slush.

“Why not?  Gee, let me just work it out like a goddamn sitcom with the man who used to secretly record me and my brother when we were kids--or, how he used to tell me I was born broken and would never fucking be happy.  Or--or, how he told me to suck it up after I walked in to find my mother’s goddamn body!”

He’s erupting and Bulma isn’t sure how to stop him now.  Especially since what he’s saying is cutting through her drunk mind and it’s...really bad.

“The fucker told me I was just like my mom and no one would love me for my entire goddamn teen years and, yeah, so right now he’s realizing what a fucking dick he’s been and wants to work through it.  Well, I’m not fucking ready yet.”

A good portion of Bulma knows that he’s right and she’s out of line, but there’s a stubbornness there, too--bolstered by four margaritas.

“Okay, fine!” she yells back. “But don’t tear my head off!”

“You’re mad at my tone?!  Fuck off!”

“You fuck off!”

Everyone in the restaurant is staring at them now in rapt fascination.  She’s about to fire off again, when someone she presumes is the manager scuttles up to their table.

“Um...ma’am...you and your boyfriend are disturbing the other patrons,” he says meekly. “Can you please take your quarrel outside?”

“No need,” Vegeta sneers, staring right at her. “I’m leaving.”

He turns and begins to walk away.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

Her only answer is him slamming the door of the restaurant.  Frustrated, Bulma lets out a cry and drops into her seat.  Turning, she sees the manager still staring at her in mild fear.

“I will take the check, please, thank you.”

\--

Turles furrows his brow at the screen. “So are we supposed to feel sorry that Nicole Kidman is dead?”

Broly shakes his head.

“No--it’s kind of poetic justice because she convinced that kid to kill her husband and wanted fame but in the end she was killed and no one really cared.”

“The kid looked like Joaquin Phoenix.”

“That’s because it was Joaquin Phoenix.”

“That explains it.”

Turles reaches for the bowl of popcorn and Broly wordlessly passes it over.  All things considered, staying in and watching Broly’s weird movies is the most wholesome thing he could be doing on Valentine’s Day.  Truly, he wishes that he could put his arm around him--at the very least--but he’ll take this.  An added bonus is that Broly’s face completely changes when he watches movies.  It’s the same way when he plays.  He looks captivated and alive and seeing him like that is enough--nearly.

_ Feelings suck ass, _ Turles thinks miserably.  He reaches into his mouth to dislodge a kernel of popcorn and settles back into the couch.

Life would be so much easier if he could just be the rockstar he is and fuck indiscriminately, which--okay--he  _ does, _ but emotions are messy.  Relationships are messier.  He only has to refer to the rollercoaster of his relationship with Raditz for that.  Hell, he doesn’t even have to look  _ that _ close and instead look at Kakarrot and Chi-Chi.

He hears a key slide in the lock and sits up, surprised.  He figured Raditz would go back to Lapis’s apartment after dinner.  The lock doesn’t quite turn, but the person tries twisting the knob anyway, resulting in a heavy  _ thump _ against the door.

“Fuck!” A voice cries harshly.

Broly looks at him, brows drawn down in a look of clear confusion.

“That sounded like Vegeta.”

“It did,” he agrees.

He hears the key scrape against the lock again and this time the deadbolt engages and the door is able to swing open.  Sure enough, Vegeta slumps into the apartment, hanging off of the knob.

“Hey,” he says gruffly. “Who wants to make some bad choices?”

Turles thinks of his thoughts on feelings and the stomach-deep pining he’s been doing for Broly and feels himself grin.

“Oh,  _ hell _ yeah.”

He watches him stagger to his feet and into the apartment.  There’s no denying that he’s already completely loaded.

“Did you move where we kept the booze?” he demands, walking past them to go into the kitchen.

Broly puts the bowl of popcorn down and trails after him.

“Do you really think you need more?”

Vegeta ignores him and throws open the cabinet.  He grabs a bottle in the front and glares blearily at the label.

“What the fuck is Johnnie Walker  _ Green?” _ he demands. “It any good?”

Turles takes it from his hands. “Let’s find out.”

\--

As angry as she is, Bulma knows that she can’t just slam into the apartment.  There’s a toddler sleeping, after all.  A combination of the cold, February air, the walk home from the restaurant, and the glasses of water the manager politely forced on her have done wonders to sober her up.

She knows that two people as volatile as her and Vegeta are going to have arguments and it’s not going to be rainbows and unicorns all the time but, God, tonight was a shitshow.

She rubs her eyes tiredly as she shuts the apartment door behind her.

“You’re alone?”

Caulifla gets up off of the couch and walks over to her.  Kale is lying on the couch, dozing, with a blanket draped over her.  Both girls look disheveled as well, which means that at least two people had a nice Valentine’s Day.  Whoop-dee-doo.

“Yeah,” she says, going into the kitchen.

She goes to the fridge to grab the pitcher of filtered water.

“What did he do?” Caulifla asks.  She runs a hand through her wild hair and yawns. “Also Kale and I accidentally found the box of sex toys under your bed.  That was a thing that happened tonight.  Why do you keep the paddles after you’ve broken them?  Are they, like, trophies?”

Bulma isn’t sure what to say to any of those statements so she simply pours herself a glass of water.  Returning the pitcher, she sighs and presses her head against the metal of the fridge.

“We had a fight,” she says.

“You two?” Caulifla winces. “Shit.  How bad?”

“Nuclear,” she says. “We were asked to leave the restaurant.”

“You were in public?” She widens her eyes and repeats, “Shit.”

Bulma nods and takes a sip of water.  This is not at all how she imagined tonight going.  Vegeta’s right: she should stop pestering him about talking to his dad.  How he handled it, though, is an issue and something else they have to talk about and--fuck.

“Where is he?”

Bulma shrugs.  The part of her that’s angry wants not to care, but the increasingly sober part of her that wants to make up is worried.

Her phone vibrates with a message and she’s surprised to see her boyfriend’s name as the sender.  She knows that when she was younger or even as recently as last year, she would ignore it on principle but now she slides open the notification.

**Vegeta:** _hey this is Broly.  He’s here but he’s in bad shape_

Another message sends a moment later.

**Vegeta:** _here as in the apartment_

The message is accompanied by a string of emojis that she finds surprising.

“Broly loves emojis.  Kale says he says that it makes it easier to convey tone, which he finds hard normally.” Caulifla peeks over her shoulder to read the screen.

Bulma bobs her head as if she cares or if it matters.  He’s at the old apartment.  Should she go over there?  Will he still be angry?  Will she?

“I’ll get him if you want,” Caulifla says.

Does she?  She takes another sip of her water.

“Go ahead.”

If nothing else, it’ll give her time to take a shower and clear her head.  Maybe then she’ll figure out what to say--not that it matters if Vegeta’s too fucked up.  Christ--this was supposed to be a nice night out.

“Cool.” Caulifla walks to grab her coat from where she draped it over the chair. “If Kale wakes up before I’m back, let her know where I am.”

Bulma nods. “Yeah, sure.”

\--

Being drunk, Turles figures, is much better than pining like a fucking punk ass loser.  Pining doesn’t suit him, but here he is.  He slumps down on the couch, cradling a bottle to his chest.

He’s figured that it doesn’t matter if he thinks Broly likes him back or not.  If he does, then he isn’t ready to date anyone and Turles isn’t going to force him.  It’s like he said to him when Raditz let him down: forcing something is worse.  Putting it out there will make things awkward and he isn’t going to jeopardize their band or, more importantly, their friendship.

So he drinks.  And drinks some more, but at least he isn’t drinking alone.

“Gimme that.” Vegeta grabs the bottle from his hand and tips it to his mouth.  Some of it sloshes out to spill on Siouxsie Sioux’s face printed on his shirt.  He was already loaded when he got here and has only gotten worse.  Turles is still just south of tipsy and, honestly, feels downright sober in comparison.

He sees Broly watching them, his face slightly concerned.  He walks up and slips Vegeta’s phone back in the pocket of his jacket.  Dimly, he wonders who he texted, but he can probably guess.  It’s not his business why he’s here and wasted.  It just matters that he’s drinking with him and he can distract himself from...everything.

“What happened?” he asks.  Reaching out with one hand, he flicks at the earring dangling from Vegeta’s ear only to be smacked away.

“None of your fucking business,” he mumbles.

_ So it’s like that… _

Turles wants to continue to bug him because it’s a distraction and also clearly has to do with Bulma, but he doesn’t get the chance.  Someone pounds on the door.  He wonders if it’s Bulma herself come to finish whatever fight the two of them were having as he drags himself up to open the door.

Caulifla stands on the other side, arms crossed.

“Cauli!” he cries jovially. “Your septum looks good--I do great fucking work!”

Her gloved hands go to the hoop and fiddle with it before nodding. “Yeah.  So he’s here, I heard.”

Now he knows what Broly was doing with Vegeta’s phone.  He turns back towards the couch.

“Oi, Your Highness--your sister’s here.”

Caulifla makes a face at the descriptor but she doesn’t try to argue it.

“Tell her to fuck off.”

She makes a face and peeks around Turles.

“Hey!” she snarls. “Get off your ass and let’s go!”

Turles stands, watching in amusement, at the entire scenario.  It probably affects him in the grand scheme of things--or will affect the band, more accurately--but right now it’s just kind of.  Funny.  Then again, he’s also very much “kind of” drunk.

Caulifla stomps into the living room and grabs Vegeta by his arm.  She’s still relatively new to the art of transporting him when he’s absolutely wasted.  It usually takes Nappa or Raditz  _ at least _ to get him to budge.

“You need to go home.  Whatever the fuck happened, go be an adult about it.”

He gives her the finger and Caulifla grabs it, wrenching it back.

“Ow!” he exclaims. “That fucking hurt!”

“Yeah, so let’s get you home.”

Turles expects he or Broly will have to intervene but, then, Vegeta staggers to his feet.

“Fine.” He slumps over, looking properly defeated and trails after her out the door.

Once they’re gone, Turles flings himself back onto the couch.

“Talk about high drama,” he says with a cackle of a laugh.

“Yeah…”

Broly settles next to him, curling in on himself.  He somehow manages to draw up his knees and actually look almost short.  Turles looks away.

“So what movie’s next?” he asks loudly.

Broly stares at the screen, which has reverted back to the DVD menu and shakes his head.  He unfurls himself and gets slowly to his feet.

“I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Turles swallows. “Right...okay.”

He watches him walk to the bathroom.  Without another thought, he grabs the bottle that Vegeta abandoned and brings it to his lips.

\--

Lapis won the game of “paper, scissors, rock” against his sister, which means that he and Raditz get to go back to their apartment while she and Krillin have to go to his apartment.  Being eleven minutes younger, Lapis has always been slightly behind her so he’s glad for any opportunity to win--in any way.

“Damn.  This is the first nice shirt I’ve owned since, like, high school,” Raditz says once they’re inside.

He strips off of his leather jacket and drops it on the couch.  The apartment is silent, which means that 16 is either asleep or out himself.  More and more often, 16 has been going out and Lapis is beginning to suspect he’s met someone.

“It was kind of impressive,” he says. “I was into it.”

“I’m glad you were--when the buttons landed in her wine, I swear Chi-Chi was gonna have an aneurysm.”

He puts his suit jacket on top of the leather and prods at the bit of thread that remains of one of the buttons.  Lapis draws up to him and places his hand on his exposed chest.

“So this shirt is kind of a lost cause, right?”

Raditz nods glumly. “Looks that way…”

“Good.”

He grabs at where the shirt gapes open, clutching both sides of the fabric in each hand, and rips it off.  Buttons fly off every which way, exposing his boyfriend down to his waistband.  Lapis tugs the shirt out of his trousers and Raditz shrugs the rest of the way out of it.

“Much better,” he says.

“You could have just asked.” Raditz laughs and leans down to kiss him.

“I wanted to do it myself,” he says before allowing him to capture his lips.

“You can be super corny sometimes.”

He doesn’t say that the corniness is usually the other way around.

“I think you’re off by a letter,” he says instead and presses his crotch against his.

A wolfish look crosses onto Raditz’s face.  He kisses him again.  Once they part, they make the familiar walk to his room, leaving the ruined shirt on the living room floor.

“Dinner was fun, though,” Lapis says. “We should do fancy, adult shit more often.”

They recline on the bed and Raditz leans over him, his hair falling down to frame them both.

“Nah, doesn’t suit us.”

“You’re probably right.” He lets a smile ghost over his lips. “I just wanted to see you burst out of your clothes again.”

“You are  _ so _ horny.” He smirks. “There--did I get it right this time?”

Lapis laughs and pulls him down for another kiss.

\--

Chi-Chi tips her head back and the little whimper of pleasure she gives sends electricity straight to Kakarrot’s groan.  She had been in such a bad mood when they got back home from the restaurant so he offered to massage her shoulders.

“It wasn’t so bad,” he says.

“It was terrible!”

She sighs and Kakarrot takes that as his cue to keep going.  He works his thumbs up her neck, being careful of her spine as he does.

“Not really…” he tries again.

“Your brother’s shirt buttons  _ landed in my wine.” _

He shrugs.  Honestly, it isn’t that big of a deal.  Worse things could have and  _ have _ happened.  He’s just glad that he didn’t spill wine on his crisp, white shirt.

“Yeah, but it got everyone laughing.  I think everyone else had a good time.  Even Lazuli was smiling by dessert.”

He thinks it went fine for trying to corral a bunch of decidedly non-fancy twenty-somethings but, then, what does he know?  Chi-Chi stills under his hands.

“Really?”

He leans in to kiss exposed top of her back. “Totally.”

“I guess I didn’t notice…” she sighs. “I get in my head sometimes, don’t I?”

Kakarrot has the good sense to not blurt out his first thought and instead says, “Sometimes.”

Her shoulders shake a bit in laughter. “I just wanted...something normal for once.  Something nice.”

“I like that we aren’t normal,” he replies.

It’s true.  They got together in high school, had a kid when they were barely nineteen, and broke up and got together more times than he can count but now they’re good.  They’re getting married.  But maybe it’s because he’s never seen a “normal” relationship.  His parents aren’t conventional either so maybe he’s just used to it.

“I guess,” she allows.

Kakarrot keeps up his ministrations, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles next to her shoulder blades.

“In any case, we have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

Chi-Chi gives an inelegant snort of laughter.

“That is a terrible come on.”

She tips her head back again to look at him and he takes the opportunity to kiss her.

“Then I guess I’m lucky that you’re already stuck with me  _ and _ my bad come ons.”

Her lips curve up in a smile and she lifts her head so Kakarrot and pepper little kisses on her neck.

“You’re right.  Lucky you.”

He grins. “Yeah.  Lucky me.”

\--

Vegeta is in a sorry state when Caulifla delivers him back to the apartment.  He stumbles over his feet and slumps into the chair, elbows resting on his knees.  His head is down and Bulma has to lift him by the chin so they can look at one another.  She thinks she’s had adequate time to calm down.  Maybe.

“Hey,” she says. “You in there?”

He must be because he makes a fiddly gesture with his hand.

“I wanted to...apologize.  For trying to force things with your dad.  It’s up to you when you want to talk to him.”

He bobs his head and mutters, “‘M sorry, too.  F’r biting off your head.”

Bulma strokes his face and smiles a bit.  They’ll have to save the real discussion for tomorrow when he’s at least sober but this is a start.

“Gonna sleep on th’ couch...better tonight.”

Maybe that’s for the best.  Bulma sits back on her heels and sighs.  Maybe it isn’t even a start--but it’s better that they aren’t yelling with Trunks sleeping.

“Then where are we supposed to sleep?” Caulifla demands.  Next to her a sleepy Kale rubs her eyes and nods in agreement.

Oh, right--it’s probably too late for them to catch a train home.

“In the bed with me,” Bulma says, because she can’t think of an alternative..

“Sleepover?  Cool.”

Both girls head to the bedroom, but Bulma doesn’t follow them just yet.  She helps Vegeta onto the couch and gets him on his side.  Helps him out of his boots and jacket.

“L’you,” he mutters and if this night weren’t terrible and weird, she would have thought it was adorable.

She makes her way to the bedroom and crawls into bed.  Kale’s already gone back to sleep, her head resting in the curve of Caulifla’s neck.  She looks similarly conked out.  Bulma lies down and tries to sleep.  Something, though, something isn’t right.

She gets out of bed and pads back into the living room.  There’s barely any room but Bulma manages to wedge herself behind Vegeta, bringing her arms around to wrap around his chest.  He stinks like tequila and whiskey but she doesn’t really care.

“We’re a bit fucked up, aren’t we?” she asks.

Her only answer is a light snore.  Not sure what else to do, she puts her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes to sleep.


End file.
